


Exquisite Taste

by afteriwake



Series: With Love [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Baking, Developing Relationship, F/M, Family Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Food, M/M, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, POV Molly Hooper, Pregnancy, Same-Sex Marriage, Stress Baking, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-24 06:54:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4909585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some of the most memorable points in Molly’s life after Sherlock’s fall involve baked goods, in one way or another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a requested fic for **missymegs2698** which actually got quite a bit longer than was intended. Her request was " _Cute & fluffy Sherlolly. I’m really fond of baking and pregnancy scenarios, also I love MyStrade and Irene Adler_," and while I may not be able to work Irene into it all the rest will happen! Each section is prefaced by an actual recipe I got from [this website](http://www.foodandwine.com/slideshows/beautiful-desserts) (individual links will be found at the end of each chapter), and the headcanon for Mycroft's personal baker I found via Facebook (I [saved the image](http://s8.postimg.org/rc471k3bp/Mycroft_s_Favorite_Baker_Headcanon.jpg) but I can't read the text to find the source...if you know where it came from please let me know so I can give credit).
> 
>  **Edit** The lovely **majesticlolipop** has now drawn art to accompany the fic! I am so honored to have this for the story because it's so lovely. Please click the graphic below to go to the Tumblr post for the larger size of the art to see all the detail in it.
> 
> [ ](http://majesticlolipop.tumblr.com/post/145433880621/some-of-the-most-memorable-points-in-mollys-life)

**The Chocolate-Raspberry Swiss Roll**

There were two things most people knew about Molly Hooper if they knew anything about her at all: she had a sweet tooth, and she liked to bake when she was stressed. And there was nothing more stressful in her life right now than keeping the secret of Sherlock Holmes faked death. It had been nearly nine months, and somehow Anderson had gotten it in his head that Sherlock was alive and _she_ had something to do with it.

And he wouldn’t leave her the bloody hell _alone_.

And so she was at her stove, beating egg white with salt until peaks began to form. She was gradually adding the sugar when she heard her front door open and she stopped. She wasn’t _expecting_ anyone, which left two possibilities: Sherlock or an intruder. She set down her measuring cup as silently as possible and reached over for the knife block on her counter, picking out her biggest knife.

“There’s no need for that, Miss Hooper,” she heard Mycroft Holmes say.

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and let the knife slide back into its slot. “You’ve seen Philip bothering me, I see,” she said, going back to the measuring cup and continuing to add the sugar before starting to beat it into her egg whites.

He nodded. “He’s harmless,” Mycroft said.

“But annoying,” she said. 

He moved closer to her, watching her mix the cake batter. “I’ll see what I can do to get him to cease and desist.” He surveyed the ingredients on her counter. “Swiss roll?”

“Yes,” she said. “Chocolate raspberry.” Once the egg whites were glossy she began to fold in the yolk mixture. “It’s a bit of a cheat I found in an American magazine, so I’m not sure how well the recipe will transfer over, but it sounded appetizing so I figured why not.”

“I would like some, if you wouldn’t mind,” he said. “But let’s keep that between us. In return, perhaps I will bring you a treat if you can endure Anderson a bit longer.”

Molly nodded. “All right. Tomorrow, come to Barts and I’ll have a slice for you.”

He gave her a faint smile and inclined his head towards her. “Thank you.” He turned and then made his way out of her kitchen, pausing when he was a few feet away. “How do you feel about lemon curd?”

“I enjoy it,” she said, giving him a grin.

“Very well,” he said before continuing on his way out of her flat. She watched for a moment, then went back to her cake. Since Mycroft was expecting a piece, she had to make sure she didn’t make a hash out of it.

**The Red Velvet Spider Web Cupcakes**

It wasn’t often Molly had a reason to go by Scotland Yard, but both Sally and Lestrade had invited her to come visit the day of the office Halloween party to loosen up a bit and let her hair down. She usually loved this holiday, almost as much as she loved Christmas, but this year she seemed to be a bit more downhearted than she usually was. She was lonely, and so tired of being lonely, and the closer it was getting to Christmas the worse she felt.

But today she just wanted to concentrate on having some fun with people she enjoyed being around. She did have quite a few friends and acquaintances at the Yard; she couldn’t do what she did and not have them. And so she put on her costume, that of a 1920s flapper, and made her way there. She had just barely made it into the building and into the area where the food was when Lestrade was handing her a cupcake. “Molly, you _have_ to have one of these,” he said.

She looked down, saw the intricate design of a spider’s web on the chocolate frosting. She looked back at him and raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because Mycroft sent them and he has damn good taste. I mean, I had one with dinner last night, but…” Lestrade said, trailing off. Molly gave him a grin as it hit him what he said. “Damn it.”

“So you and Mycroft are an item?” she asked, peeling back the paper from the cupcake.

Lestrade nodded. “We’re not making a big deal out of it. I mean, we _can’t_ , not really, but I doubt Mycroft would mind if you knew. He seems to trust you a great deal and all.”

She nodded, not sure if he knew the truth about Sherlock yet. She was fairly sure if he and Mycroft did get serious he might learn soon enough, but she wasn’t going to ruin the plan until she heard otherwise from Mycroft. “I suppose he does.” She finally got the paper pulled away and took a bite. She moaned as she got a taste of the tapioca filling that was inside the red velvet cupcake. “This is magnificent. He does have good taste.”

“Good,” he said with a wide grin. “Now, come help me convince Sally to give one of these a try. She’s turning her nose up at them because they’re red velvet.”

“Oh, she doesn’t know what she’s missing,” she said before taking another bite. If the start of this evening was any indication, it was going to be a very interesting night.

**The Lemon Cake with Crackly Caramel Glaze and Lime-Yogurt Mousse**

She had never actually been invited to dine at Mycroft’s home before. Sherlock had once joked it was a fortress and he wasn’t quite wrong. At least she’d been given the chance to look pretty, she’d thought to herself. Granted, she was looking pretty for a date, one she doubted she’d ever get to go on, but going to his home in her work clothes just didn’t seem right for some reason. She had been greeted at the door by his assistant and ushered inside to the sound of friendly chatter between Mycroft and Lestrade and then left in their company.

Despite the potential to feel like a third wheel on what she supposed was supposed to have been one of their dates it was actually quite a pleasant evening. The food was excellent, the wine was superb, and the conversation was stellar. She probably had a better time with the two of them than she ever would have on her own date. As the evening settled down and it came down to dessert she found herself eager to find out two things: what they were going to eat and why she had been summoned.

“Mycroft’s got his own personal baker,” Lestrade said with a grin as he looked across the table at Molly while Mycroft had gone to fetch their dessert. “And the story’s quite the kicker.”

“Really?” she asked.

Lestrade nodded. “He’s Butcher Bill.”

Her eyes widened. “What?” she said, shocked.

“Turns out that prior to his stint as a murderer he studied at some of the best schools when it came to making pastries and cakes and all that. Mycroft found out and worked out a deal with him: if he was allowed access to a kitchen to make baked goods exclusively for him, he could spend the rest of his life in a mental institution instead of in prison. He pretty much leapt at the chance.” Lestrade leaned back in his seat. “It’s probably the best place for him anyway. I worked the case. He was a former soldier who snapped. He wouldn’t have made it all that long in prison, and he gets to do his life’s passion.”

Molly nodded slowly. She remembered that case, and had actually felt rather sorry for the man when she’d learned more of the details. At least _some_ good had come out of it, she supposed. “And he made tonight’s dessert?” she asked.

“Well, I believe he made the cake and the caramel glaze. Mycroft made the mousse.”

“This will be interesting,” she said as Mycroft came out, carrying a tray with three dessert plates and three small bowls.

“Lemon cake with crackly caramel glaze and lime-yogurt mousse,” Mycroft said, depositing a plate and a bowl in front of each of his guests. Molly looked down at her servings and her mouth began to water. It looked absolutely scrumptious. She picked up her fork and took a bite of the cake, savoring it as Mycroft sat down again. “Well?”

“Divine,” she said with a nod.

“Good,” he replied. He looked at his own serving. “I need you to go to New York, Molly. Sherlock is ill and needs a doctor’s care. I don’t anticipate it taking too long, but plan for a week at most.”

“How ill is he?” she asked, alternating with a bite of the mousse. It also tasted heavenly, light and fluffy and very cool.

“I’m not sure, but he did not sound at the top of his game,” Mycroft said before taking a bit of his own food. “Make sure he gets better.”

“I will,” she said with a nod, feeling excited yet nervous. She was going to get to see him again, after nearly a year. She wondered how he was, what he was like…whether he wanted to see her. But for now, she had to concentrate on making him feel better, and that was priority number one.

**The Pumpkin Cake with Caramel-Cream Cheese Frosting**

She had arrived to find that Sherlock really should have been hospitalized. He was really quite ill, but thankfully he’d been holed up in an apartment and it was just around Thanksgiving so she was able to supplement the medication she was giving him with large quantities of homemade turkey soup. But really, he was far worse off than Mycroft had been led to believe. Oh, she’d wanted to berate him for not taking better care of himself, she really had, but he’d looked so pathetic she’d held off.

She’d been in New York for nearly a week and a half, and she’d only get a few more days to stay at most. Sherlock was on the mend, and would only have need of her for another three days, maybe four. She wanted to make the most of them, if she could. He was supposed to be in New York for another three weeks so she wanted to leave him plenty of good food, so she’d been cooking and baking up a storm, freezing most of it for him. He needed to eat better than he had been, and even if he didn’t once he left he could _now_ , at least.

As today was actually Thanksgiving and she’d seen the sorry excuses for pumpkin pies that the supermarkets had she decided to try her hand at baking something else. It wasn’t as though she’d probably ever have a reason for celebrating this particular holiday again, and so she was in the small, cramped kitchen in the tiny apartment Sherlock was using, humming to herself as Sherlock slept, working on the caramel cream cheese frosting. She knew the turkey would take time to cook so she’d made the pumpkin cake ahead of time, and it was currently in the refrigerator in a sealed container.

“Caramel?” she heard Sherlock ask from the doorway. She turned and saw him standing there in pyjama bottoms and not much else. Before she may have gotten flustered at the sight of him in so little clothing; now she was used to it.

She nodded. “It’s Thanksgiving today. I thought you could use a treat to go with more of the turkey.”

He gave her a faint smile. “You don’t need to take care of me, Molly. You can go back to London. I’m fine.” The smile abruptly dropped off his face as a wracking cough erupted from his body.

“Uh-huh,” she said with a smile, turning back to the caramel. It was just about done, and all she had left to do at the moment was pull it off the heat and stir in the butter and the heavy cream before transferring it and adding the cream cheese.

“I’m sure you’d rather be back home, doing other things, being with other people,” he said, moving closer.

“There isn’t anyone waiting for me at home, if that’s what you’re hinting at,” she said.

“No one?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No one.”

“It’s been nearly a year,” he said. “Over that, I mean, since…”

“Since Jim?” she said quietly, looking at him. He nodded. “I know. I just haven’t seen the point. I’ve had a few stray dates, but no one’s…clicked. And keeping your secret, that’s quite hard.”

He moved closer and put a hand on her shoulders. “I’m sorry for that,” he said.

“It’s all right,” she replied, hesitating a moment before wrapping her arms around his bare waist. He didn’t move, but then he held her close, resting his chin on top of her head. She shut her eyes and savored the moment before letting go of him. “I should get back to the caramel.”

He nodded, but he didn’t quite move away, instead looking at her. “Molly?” he asked after a moment.

She turned off the heat under the saucepan. “Yes?” she asked.

He looked as though he wanted to do something, to say something, but then he changed his mind. “Never mind,” he said. “I’ll leave you to your baking.” He turned and made his way to the small coffeemaker and poured himself some coffee, leaving her wondering just what he had planned on doing of saying just then.

**The Cream Puffs with Chocolate Sauce**

She couldn’t stay any longer. It would look too suspicious if she took any more time off so her flight was leaving the next morning. Sherlock seemed to be almost completely on the mend so she had planned on taking the day to explore, but first she was going to sleep in a bit. Having to get up early to make sure he got his medications and had food to take them with had been extremely wearing on her.

She had not expected him to join her, as he had been out of commission for nearly three weeks on his mission to take down Moriarty’s network but he insisted, seemingly wanting to be near her. And she had to admit she enjoyed it. She liked spending time with him like this, just the two of them, roaming around a city that wasn’t London, exploring new things, taking in the sights. If it had been another person she might have almost considered it a date, to be honest, and it would have been quite a lovely one.

As night was falling she saw a place was selling cream puffs with chocolate sauce and she nearly dragged Sherlock inside, ordering two. She wasn’t sure whether he wanted one or not, and frankly if he didn’t then she’d just eat his for him. She loved cream puffs and while they were rather easy to make they were quite time consuming, so she didn’t make them often. They got them to go and settled onto a bench to eat them.

“This is magnificent,” she said as she took her first bite, shutting her eyes as the bittersweet chocolate sauce danced on her tongue. This was definitely far superior to any version she had made on her own. She took another bite and gave a tiny moan. “Oh, I’m so glad we stopped there.”

Sherlock gave a soft chuckle. “You seem to be enjoying yourself,” he said.

“These are definitely a favorite,” she said, turning to look at him. She watched him take a bite. “Well?”

“Not one of my favorites, but still good,” he said when he was done swallowing. He took another bite of his. “It’s going to be strange when you aren’t here. I’ve gotten used to your presence.”

“I know,” she said, her good mood dimming. “And I’m going to go back to worrying about you, now that I know how poorly you’ve been taking care of yourself.”

“I’ll try to be better,” he promised.

She looked at him and then nodded. “You’d better. Or I’ll find you and kick your arse.”

“Promise?” he asked.

“Promise,” she said with a nod.

He was quiet for a moment before setting down his cream puff and reaching for her hand. “Or…perhaps you can just find me,” he said quietly. “My brother knows where I am almost all the time. He can arrange for us to meet somewhere.”

“It’s not a good idea,” she said quietly, staring at their hands.

“No, I suppose not,” he said. “But I’d like it just the same.”

She looked up at him and after a moment set her empty container down and moved closer. “Sherlock, are you trying to tell me something?” she asked.

He was quiet for a moment, then reached over and pulled her closer before leaning in and kissing her. She was surprised but very quickly responded back, grasping the lapels of his coat and kissing him back eagerly. When they pulled apart to catch their breath, he moved a hand up to caress her cheek. “I’ve wanted to do that for days now.”

“You should have,” she said quietly. “I can’t stay past morning.”

“Then we’ll have to make the most of tonight,” he said before he leaned in and kissed her again. At least they had tonight, she thought to herself. She was quite thankful for that much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **RECIPES:** [Chocolate-Raspberry Swiss Roll](http://www.foodandwine.com/recipes/chocolate-raspberry-swiss-roll) | [Red Velvet Spider Web Cupcakes](http://www.foodandwine.com/recipes/red-velvet-spider-web-cupcakes) | [Lemon Cake with Crackly Caramel Glaze and Lime-Yogurt Mousse](http://www.foodandwine.com/recipes/lemon-cake-with-crackly-caramel-glaze-and-lime-yogurt-mousse) | [Pumpkin Cake with Caramel-Cream Cheese Frosting](http://www.foodandwine.com/recipes/pumpkin-cake-with-caramel-cream-cheese-frosting) | [Cream Puffs with Chocolate Sauce](http://www.foodandwine.com/recipes/cream-puffs-with-chocolate-sauce)


	2. Chapter 2

**The Mini Cheesecakes with Wine Gelées**

Leaving New York City had been bittersweet. She had wanted nothing more than to pull Sherlock onto the plane, tell the pilot to take them away, far away, someplace that wasn’t London, and just put the whole mess behind them. But she couldn’t do that, they both knew that. It wasn’t an option. He needed to do what he’d been tasked to do and she needed to go back to London and keep pretending he was dead.

But she had gotten one night with him, one rather glorious night at that. They had not spent much time asleep, pushing themselves to stay awake as long as possible, to enjoy every last bit of each other’s company, but at least briefly she had fallen asleep in his arms, held close by him, her head on his chest as she listened to the reassuring sounds of his breathing and his heartbeat. She knew then that no matter what else happened that when she got back to London there would be no other men, not even for appearances sake. She would wait, however long it took, for Sherlock.

While saddened for a bit most of her friends wrote that off to disillusionment with the upcoming holidays, and they tried to cheer her up any way they could. Invitations had poured in to spend the days leading up to Christmas among friends, and the day itself her presence had been requested at the home of Mycroft’s parents. She assumed Sherlock may have had something to do with that, if it wasn’t entirely Mycroft’s idea. But Greg was there, and Anthea, so it was all right. And Mr. and Mrs. Holmes had actually been quite lovely towards her, so she’d had a very good time, even if Mycroft had grumbled at times during the day.

New Years Eve she had decided against going out to any large parties and so she was at Mycroft’s home, enjoying another meal with him and Greg. They had gotten to be evenings she looked forward to, she realized. She was quite happy for the two of them even if they were having to be incredibly discrete. They were happy with each other. In fact, she actually saw Mycroft smile, a sight that, when she had told Sherlock about it while she had been in New York, he had said was as rare as a unicorn sighting in an all boy’s school. She’d been poured a glass of wine but had just a sip or two. It was a fine vintage, it always was, but it had set her stomach off.

“You may not want dessert, Molly,” Mycroft said when he came back with a tray that held plates containing personal sized cakes of some sort, each topped off with a gelée. “Seeing as you haven’t touched your wine much this evening. They’re miniature cheesecakes made with goat cheese and crème fraîche and topped with wine gelées.”

“I suppose I could try at least a bite, to be courteous,” she said, even though her stomach lurched slightly.

Lestrade studied her. “Molly, when you were with Sherlock, did the two of you…?” he asked, trailing off.

She flushed at that. She did _not_ want to get into this conversation, not here, not now. Not in front of Mycroft. But…she knew what he was hinting at. “But we were careful,” she said softly.

Mycroft set the tray down. “Gregory, there should be a test, upstairs in the guest washroom. I had a houseguest who bought two but used one. I suppose it should still be good.” Lestrade nodded and pulled away from his seat. Mycroft hesitated for a moment but then sat next to Molly. “If you _are_ pregnant, Molly, you do know I will do everything I can to keep you and the child safe.”

“I know,” she said. “But what about his father?”

“I am already trying to do that, but Sherlock is making it…difficult,” he said. “Nonetheless, if I deliver the news to him that he is to be a father, perhaps he will take more precautions.”

“Or you could just bring him home?” Molly asked, looking at him.

Mycroft nodded slowly. “Perhaps.”

They sat in silence until Lestrade returned with the pregnancy test, and then Molly went to the washroom to use it. The two men gave her relative privacy to wait for the results, but soon enough she saw two clear blue lines. She walked back out and saw them looking at her. “Mycroft, you’re going to have a niece or nephew soon.”

“I’ll see what I can do, Molly,” he said. “I promise.”

She nodded before sitting back down, slightly wonderstruck. This news…this changed everything in so many ways. And she wasn’t even sure if she was going to be on her own or not.

**The Hazelnut-and-Chocolate Meringue Cake**

Two weeks after finding out she was pregnant and they still couldn’t find Sherlock.

Two weeks after finding out she was pregnant and she’d spent a small fortune on baking supplies.

Two weeks after finding out she was pregnant and the inside of her flat was beginning to resemble a bakery.

She was utterly convinced she was going to gain so much weight, but she didn’t care. No one had any clue at all where Sherlock was, and the worry and fear gnawed at her and the solution to that was to bake. She’d made dozens of biscuits and cupcakes and given them out to all her friends, but the longer it went on the more stressed she became and the more complicated her recipes got. The one she was working on now was supposed to be quite easy to make but difficult to serve. Not that it mattered to her if the meringue was going to crumble when she served it. It was going to be served to a party of one, herself, and she was probably going to eat the entire thing in one all too long sitting while she fretted over Sherlock.

As soon as she was done pouring the melted bittersweet chocolate down the sites of the bowl of her stand mixer and folding it in until everything was lightly marbled then she could bake the meringues for the next few hours before she let them cool. While she was doing that she’d figure out some other way to occupy her thoughts. If she didn’t she’d probably drive herself mad. He could be hurt, or worse. He could have no clue that he was an expectant father, that their one night together had a slightly different result than either of them had planned.

 _Or worse_ , the voice in the back of her head she’d been trying to drown out had piped up. _He could know and he could be running away from it all. You **did** use protection, after all, so this **wouldn’t** happen._

“Oh, shut up,” she murmured out loud, squeezing her eyes shut and placing her hands on the worktop. She didn’t want to think that might be the case. She didn’t want to think she really might have to do this without him, that he would just… _leave_ her, leave the baby, and say fuck it all.

“I didn’t say anything,” she heard a familiar voice say behind her, and after a moment of shock she whirled around to see Sherlock standing there, looking unsure of himself. She stared at him with wide eyes. “I know Mycroft was simply trying to alert me but he said nothing about bringing me home and I needed to...” His gaze drifted down to her abdomen. “You’re pregnant?”

She nodded, her hands instinctively moving there. “Yes. I…seven weeks.”

He hesitantly took a step closer, to see what her reaction was, and when she didn’t move away he moved towards her, putting a hand on her abdomen when she was close enough. “You want the child?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said quietly.

“Good,” he said, a small smile forming on his face. “I want him too. I want both of you in my life, when I can come back to it.”

She relaxed. He wanted them both. He wanted a future with them both. Oh, how she’d hoped he’d say that. She stepped forward then, wrapping her arms around Sherlock. “So you can’t stay?” she asked.

“It’s best if I don’t, at least not until I know what Mycroft’s plans are for the situation. There are still threats that need to be taken care of,” he said, embracing her and keeping her close. “But I can stay for a few hours, at least.”

“Well, I have two and a half to kill while I wait for my meringues to cook and then a little while longer while they cool,” she said, lifting her head up from his chest. “Do you have any suggestions on how we should occupy our time?”

“I have a few,” he murmured before leaning in and kissing her. She melted against him as she kissed him back. She was still going to worry, at least as long as he was gone, but at least that niggling voice in the back of her head could kindly shut the bloody hell up now.

**The Nectarine Pavlovas**

“I want him home.”

“I want Moriarty's network eradicated.”

“I don’t give a rat’s arse about the network. He’s the father of my child and _I want him home._ ”

“The Queen—”

“If you bring the Queen into this so help me I’ll march down to Buckingham Palace myself and appeal directly to her.” Molly planted her hands on Mycroft’s desk and glared at him. It had been a month and a half since the last time she had gotten to see Sherlock, when he had broken into her flat after finding out she was pregnant. He was allowed to talk to her now, which was more than she had gotten before, but she missed him. Oh, she missed him so much. And she’d just had enough. “She isn’t called the Queen Mum for nothing.”

Mycroft studied her for a moment. “You would, wouldn’t you?” he said finally.

“Yes, Mycroft, I absolutely would,” she said with a nod. “It’s not like Greg is off chasing after the remnants of a psychopath’s organization. It’s not like you have to worry about him all the time while you’re three months pregnant. I want Sherlock here, in London, so I don’t have to fret over things and I don’t have to feel so alone.”

“But you aren’t alone,” Mycroft said.

“Mycroft? I care for you. I might even go so far as to say I adore you, in my own way. But I do not care for or adore you in the same way I do your brother.”

“You’re in love with my brother,” he said.

She was quiet for a moment. “Yes,” she said.

“Does he know you’re in love with him?” Mycroft asked.

She lifted her hands off the desk and began wringing them slightly. “Not…exactly?” He raised an eyebrow. “It’s not the sort of thing you say over the phone, Mycroft! It’s the sort of thing you say face to face, so there can be kissing afterward. And possibly shagging.” Mycroft made a face at that. “But at the very least, you should say it face to face so you can _see_ their reaction.”

“You don’t think he’s in love with you,” Mycroft said.

“What? No. I know Sherlock just as well as you do. Probably better,” she replied. “I’m almost positive he’s in love with me.”

“Almost?” Mycroft asked.

Molly glared at him. “Mycroft, have you heard about pregnant women and their increased irritability?” she asked. Mycroft’s eyes widened just slightly and he picked up a plate and offered the contents of it to her. “What’s this?”

“A peace offering,” he said.

“That looks too exquisite to eat,” she said, picking one up before he lowered the plate. “What is it?”

“A nectarine pavlova,” he said. “It’s like a regular pavlova, but the thin slices of nectarine on top of the pastry cream are arranged to resemble a Modigliani portrait. They only make six servings in a batch so the fact I am sharing one with should be telling.”

She brought it up to her lips and took a bite, just barely suppressing the moan of delight that erupted from low in her throat. “My compliments to the baker,” she said when she’d swallowed.

“I will pass them along to William,” he said with a nod. “Now. Sherlock is in Naples at the moment and he can’t be extricated. Can you rearrange your schedule to take…” He looked at some things on his laptop. “Three days off? I’ll arrange transportation.”

She nodded. “There’s a bank holiday this weekend,” she said before taking another bite.

“Good. Then take care of this matter and enjoy your time with my brother,” Mycroft said. After a moment he lifted the plate up again. “Take another. I think Gregory and Andrea are colluding with each other that I cut back on my sweets.”

She shook her head. “The things we do for the people we care about.”

“Unfortunately,” he said. “I’ll have you picked up at St. Bart’s after your last shift. That way you can extend your trip slightly.”

She picked up another pavlova and then walked around and kissed Mycroft’s cheek. “I don’t care what your brother says, you do actually have a heart,” she said with a smile before she turned to leave, nibbling on the second pavlova. Her heart felt lighter than it had in weeks, and she felt like she was floating on air. She had the feeling tonight’s conversation with Sherlock was going to be very nice indeed.

**The Triple-Cheese Cheesecake with Amaretti Crust**

Three days was not enough time. She wanted three months, three years, three decades, three centuries…anything more than three days. But three days was all that she got, and so she’d decided to make the best of it. She’d told him she loved him the minute they had privacy, in the small villa he was using outside the city, and he’d responded with a passionate kiss and the same three words, and then they’d only left the bed to sate their need for physical sustenance.

She was dozing now, the sheets cool against her bare skin. In the morning she’d have to go back to England and she didn’t know when she’d get to see him again. She had no clue how much longer all of this business was going to take, how much more of this pregnancy she was going to have to endure alone. She just wished it would all be over with sooner rather than later, and with the best possible outcome: the network slashed to ribbons and Sherlock back in England to help her raise their child. Until then, she would have to make do with what she could get.

The sound of the bedroom door slowly opening snapped her to her senses and she saw Sherlock come in, carrying a tray. She sat up, giving him a smile. “Breakfast in bed?” she asked.

“Not exactly breakfast,” he said as he brought the tray closer. “We ate most of the food I had and I hadn’t been able to get to the market. I didn’t think it was a good idea to leave you alone here. It’s not entirely safe.” She nodded. Moriarty hadn’t thought she was important but that didn’t mean there weren’t others who would make the same mistake. She surveyed the contents of the tray and zeroed in on the slice of cheesecake. He chuckled at that. “I had thought that might appeal to you.”

“Well, you know I have a sweet tooth,” she said with a smile, picking up a fork and taking a bite. The crust tasted differently than she was used to, and the texture was different. It was absolutely divine. “What kind of cheesecake is this?”

"Three cheese, I believe,” he said. “There are also amaretti crackers in the crust.”

“I’ll have to try and replicate this when I get home,” she said before taking another bite. She made sure she got a bit of the fruit this time. “Mmm…honeyed apricots. Just the right touch.”

“I know this isn’t exactly how you wanted to spend time with me,” he said, running his hand on a bit of bare leg that peeked out from under the sheets. “It’s not like the last day in New York.”

She set the plate back on the tray and then carefully moved the tray to the nightstand before moving closer to him. “Sherlock, none of this has gone the way I wanted it to. I had hoped if you ever noticed me, we could take things slowly. I’d also hoped we’d both, you know, be in the same city at the same time, or not have one of us pretending to be dead. But that’s not us. That was never going to be our way.” She reached up and framed his face, running her thumbs over his cheekbones. “Sherlock, I love you, I do. I have for a long while. And you love me. That’s all that matters. If I have to spend any time I come see you, or any time you can manage to sneak back to London cooped up in a flat or a hotel room or whatever, so be it. I’ll be with you, and that’s all that will matter to me.”

He reached around and pulled her close, with the only thing between them being the sheet Molly’d had pulled up to her chest. After a moment he pulled that away and then ran a hand up and down her bare back. “I’ll do my best to get home to you,” he said.

“Good. Because I want you home before the baby comes,” she said, leaning in and brushing her lips across his. 

“I will do everything I can to be home by then,” he said, leaning in to give her a proper kiss, and after a moment the food was all but forgotten about. Tomorrow she would be going back home…but they still had today left.

**The Lemon-Curd Cakes with Poppy Seeds**

It had been quite unexpected, the assassin in her home, but fortunately Mycroft had very good surveillance on her home and it helped that her neighbors were employed by MI-6. Still, Molly was a bit shaken and Lestrade took her home with him to Mycroft’s fortress when it was all over. She hadn’t bothered to change out of the kitten themed pyjamas she was wearing to sleep in, simply throwing a coat over them. She hadn’t even bothered to bring a change of clothing, though she was sure she would find a suitable outfit waiting for her in the morning.

Lestrade ushered her into the kitchen and she saw Mycroft was puttering around. He appeared to have a grim set to his jaw and a death grip on the spatula he was using to beat something into submission. “I have her,” Lestrade said.

“Good,” Mycroft said, not looking up. Molly made her way over and looked at what he was doing. It appeared he was beating heavy cream and sugar. She watched him add crème fraîche and poppy seeds to the mixture.

“Stress baking?” she asked gently, laying a hand on his arm.

He stilled. “If the people I put in place were not as good at their jobs as they are…” he began.

“But they are,” she said. “I’m fine. The baby is fine. The assassin is in custody and eventually when he regains consciousness he’ll be able to talk.”

“But still. It was too close. It was far too close,” he said.

Molly nodded. She knew what was coming next. “At least let me go home tomorrow and pack a few things before I move in here, all right?

Mycroft blinked and then turned to her. “So you have no objections?” he asked.

“No, I have objections, but I know when Sherlock finds out, and he’s going to because neither of us are going to keep it from him, he’s going to insist too, and I’ll end up doing it to make him worry less so I might as well agree now.”

Mycroft’s shoulders sagged slightly with relief. “You always were the most logical of my brother’s friends.”

“So what was I, chopped liver?” Lestrade teased.

“Well, I was biased when it came to you, Gregory,” Mycroft said, a small smile etching the corner of his mouth.

Molly gave him a small grin and then gestured to the mixing bowl. “What are you making?”

“Lemon-curd cakes with poppy seeds,” he said. “Since you like lemon curd I thought you might enjoy this treat. The cakes themselves were made last night and this was supposed to be the dessert for our meal tomorrow night…or, rather, tonight, but as I was stressed I had planned on eating them all myself.”

“That sounds delicious,” she said. “Would you mind terribly if I helped you eat a few?”

“I suppose I could share,” Mycroft said. “Would you like some, Gregory? There are ten of them.”

He nodded. “We could have some now and some for dessert tonight,” he said. “I only want one. I don’t _mind_ lemon and poppy seed together, but I’m more an almond and poppy seed person myself.”

“I’ll have to file that tidbit away for future reference,” Mycroft said.

“Surprise me at work with almond poppy seed muffins and you can have pretty much whatever you want after that,” Lestrade said with a wide grin.

Mycroft gave him one in return. “I’ll have to remember that tidbit as well.” He turned back to the bowl. “All that’s left is the assembly.”

“Well, Greg and I will leave you to that in peace,” Molly said with a smile. She leaned over and kissed his cheek before going over to Greg. If this wasn’t a definite sign Mycroft cared, she didn’t know _what_ was, but she was glad for it.

**The Raspberry Tart with a Pistachio Crust**

The first thing that Molly noticed was that the table was set for four when she came in for dinner. That wasn’t entirely unusual; sometimes Andrea joined them for dinner. But if she remembered correctly, Andrea was going to visit her mother this weekend. She felt a sense of anticipation course through her, a humming in her bones. Mycroft _would_ be the type to spring a surprise like Sherlock coming back on her as though it was nothing, because as much as he cared for her she knew that was one way he got his kicks.

She sat down and then looked up when she heard the door open. It was Lestrade, and she tried not to let her hands shake as she smoothed the napkin under her slightly extended baby bump. “Greg, who’s joining us for dinner?” she asked as nonchalantly as she could.

Greg blinked and looked at the place settings. “Didn’t realize we were having a guest,” he said.

Her anticipation dimmed slightly. If he didn’t know then it might not be Sherlock. It could be Mr. or Mrs. Holmes, come up to visit Mycroft, or someone else. For all she knew, she could be asked to take dinner in her room so that it was just Mycroft and Lestrade and two guests.

A short burst of cursing in a very distinctive voice, though, erased her downtrodden thoughts and she quickly pushed her chair back, standing in front of her seat. “…wanted to surprise her at Barts for _reasons_ , Mycroft,” she heard Sherlock say as he came into the dining room. He stopped suddenly as he caught sight of her, blocking Mycroft’s way into the dining room.

“Privacy would be one of those reasons, I’m assuming?” Mycroft said from behind him in an irritated tone of voice as Molly quickly moved towards Sherlock and threw her arms around him.

“Are you home for good?” she asked, her voice muffled as he’d lifted her up and her face was near the crook of his neck.

“Yes, Molly, I’m home for good,” he said.

“Mycroft, face it, you aren’t getting in here any time soon,” Lestrade said with a chuckle as Sherlock set her down and kissed her.

“Obviously,” Mycroft said from behind Sherlock. “You know, if the two of you want to run along upstairs and… _reacquaint_ yourselves, I can have dinner sent up to Molly’s room. When you’re decent, that is.”

Sherlock pulled himself away from the kiss. “I already stole a piece of the tart. Raspberry tart with a…pistachio crust?”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Always the rebel,” he said in an exasperated tone.

“Well, it’s what you get for making me wait in the kitchen. Gerda was busy making supper and said there was nothing else ready to eat so she cut me a slice. It’s quite excellent. Was that one of your creations or one of Butcher Bill’s?”

Mycroft preened just a little. “One of mine, actually.”

“You have my compliments, then.”

Mycroft narrowed his eyes and studied his brother. “You’re in a decidedly chipper mood.”

“The network is dismantled, I’m back with the woman I love and I haven’t missed the important bits of the pregnancy,” Sherlock said. “Right now I think there’s very little that can put a damper on my good mood. And no, that isn’t an invitation to try and find out.” Then he turned back to Molly. “Should we stay and socialize or should we make up for lost time?”

Molly played with the lapels of his suit jacket. “That tart sounds very appealing,” she said. “And we _do_ have all evening to ourselves. But…”

“Lost time it is,” Sherlock said with a nod. “Enjoy your meal, brother mine. I have more important things to do.” He offered Molly his hand and she took it, wide smile on her face. She felt life her heart would burst from happiness right now. It was all over. He was home, and they could pick up their life and move forward together and build something better than she had ever dreamed of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **RECIPES:** [Mini Cheesecakes with Wine Gelées](http://www.foodandwine.com/recipes/mini-cheesecakes-with-wine-gelees) | [Hazelnut-and-Chocolate Meringue Cake](http://www.foodandwine.com/recipes/hazelnut-and-chocolate-meringue-cake) | [Nectarine Pavlovas](http://www.foodandwine.com/recipes/nectarine-pavlovas) | [Triple-Cheese Cheesecake with Amaretti Crust](http://www.foodandwine.com/recipes/triple-cheese-cheesecake-with-amaretti-crust) | [Lemon-Curd Cakes with Poppy Seeds](http://www.foodandwine.com/recipes/lemon-curd-cakes-with-poppy-seeds) | [Raspberry Tart with a Pistachio Crust](http://www.foodandwine.com/recipes/raspberry-tart-with-a-pistachio-crust)


	3. Chapter 3

**The White Peach Tart**

Molly cast a glance at Sherlock. Normally she came to these dinners at Mycroft’s home alone. She didn’t mind that; Sherlock and his brother had a slightly mended relationship but it was still fractured, though she tried to mend it how and where she could. Mycroft had asked her to bring him with her tonight and he had put up only a minimum of fuss, which had made her suspicious. Something was up. She knew it. She just wasn’t sure _what_.

She’d managed to last through the dinner courses and hold her tongue, but when Mycroft went to get the dessert she turned to Sherlock. “What’s the secret?” she asked.

“Can’t say,” he said, glancing down at his mobile.

“Can’t say or _won’t_ say?” she asked, a glint of steel in her tone.

Sherlock looked over at her. “Won’t say, because it’s not my place.”

She stared at him and then sighed. “Is it bad news?” she asked finally. 

“Only if bachelorhood is a bothersome topic,” he said as the dining room door opened.

Molly gasped. “Are you proposing?” she asked, her eyes wide.

“Sherlock!” Mycroft groaned.

“I didn’t say _I_ was proposing!” Sherlock said. “And you already did it.” Mycroft looked down as it was Lestrade’s turn to have wide eyes. “Oh.”

“Well, there goes that surprise,” Mycroft grumbled, setting down the tray with a bit more force than needed.

Lestrade had a wide grin on his face and shook his head. “You know, I wasn’t serious when I said I wanted to see your brother’s face if you ever got around to asking me to marry you, Mycroft,” he said with a laugh.

“You weren’t?” Mycroft said, frowning. 

“Course not. I figured Sherlock would have already figured it out before you actually did it, as he just showed,” he said. “But it’s the thought that counts. I just thought you planned a nice evening because I didn’t get the promotion I applied for.”

Mycroft shook his head. “No. I wanted to make a gesture I thought you would appreciate, Gregory.”

“I do appreciate it, very much,” he said. “But are you really serious about marrying me?”

“Well, I suppose my parents will be disappointed that Sherlock and Molly will have to give them all of their grandchildren, but you make me happy and that’s all I care about, frankly,” Mycroft said. “And if there’s anyone in the world who doesn’t approve they can bugger off.” He picked up the ring box that had been on the tray and opened it, showing it to Lestrade. “Simple and understated. Just your style.”

“I imagine there’s one for you too?” Lestrade asked.

“Yes,” Mycroft said. “It’s in the bedroom.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Go off to the bedroom, shag like rabbits, Molly and I can see ourselves out,” he said. “ _After_ we have some of that tart.”

“You heard your brother,” Lestrade said with a grin, standing up. 

Molly laughed as Mycroft and Lestrade quickly left the dining room. “They’re just as bad as we are,” she said as Sherlock stood up and went to take Mycroft’s position in front of the tray.

“No, actually, they’re worse. Don’t ask how I know that. I honestly wish I didn’t.” He picked up the knife and served them each a serving of the white peach tart on a dessert plate. He set a plate in front of her and then sat down again. She took a bite and gave him a smile but saw he was frowning slightly as he looked at his plate. She nudged him and he looked up. “Are you upset I didn’t propose to you?”

She shook her head. “I would like it one day, maybe. If you want to. But we could honestly spend the rest of our lives together and not get married and I’d be perfectly happy with that, too. I just want to spend my life with you, married or not. That’s the important part.”

“Are you sure?” he asked.

Molly set down her fork and got out of her seat, and Sherlock turned to face her. She framed his face in her hands and leaned in, kissing him softly. “I’m one hundred percent sure,” she said.

He moved his hands to her waist. “Suddenly I’m in the mood to take you home and worship every inch of you,” he said.

“I think that’s a very good reason to abandon the tart, scrumptious as it is,” she said with a smile as she pulled away. She offered him her hand and helped him up, and they held hands as they made their way out of Mycroft’s home together, content to focus on their own future together.

**The Lemon Curd Macarons**

Molly was nervous. Today was the day of her second sonogram. Today was the day she’d find out for sure whether she was carrying a boy or a girl, she hoped, since the first one hadn’t gone _quite_ according to plan. She had tried valiantly to sleep but she just found she couldn’t, and she rose from the bed, intent on distracting herself. And that, of course, meant baking. She had a craving for lemon curd macarons that just would not go away and no bakery around could make them quite as well as she could, so that was what she was going to focus on today.

She had gotten used to Baker Street’s kitchen fairly quickly. As much as she loved her home she could tell shortly after Sherlock had come back that he was homesick. She’d talked things over with Mrs. Hudson and soon enough her things and what had remained of his were being rearranged and merged to create a space for both of them. Mrs. Hudson had been ecstatic to think there’d be a baby in the house in just a few short months, and she’d gone to all sorts of lengths to make sure the room they’d chosen was absolutely perfect. So Molly had no regrets giving up her flat to stay at Baker Street.

She’d just finished making the sugar syrup and was slowly pouring the hot syrup in a thin stream into the beaten egg whites when she heard Sherlock pad out into the kitchen. She hadn’t bothered to make coffee since she was only allowed to drink decaf and she thought the stuff tasted vile. “I didn’t mean to wake you up,” she said. “I’m sorry there’s no coffee.”

“It’s all right,” he said with a yawn, coming over and kissing the top of her head. He pulled away and watched as she used the electric mixer to start beating the meringue once the syrup was done being added. “Craving or worry?” he asked over the loud sound.

“Bit of both,” she replied. They lapsed into silence as she beat the mixture until it was stiff and glossy. Then she went over to another bowl with her sugar, almond and peppercorn mixture that she’d run through the food processor. She took the last of her eggs whites and put that over the top and then scraped the meringue on top of that before folding it all in. After a few moments she paused. “Do you enjoy watching me bake?”

“I enjoy watching you do any number of things,” he said with a grin. “I think part of the reason is because I know you’re here and you chose to be with me when you could have given up on me along with everyone else when the accusations were made. But you just asked me what I needed.”

She set down the spatula and turned to face him fully. “Well, I was still madly in love with you, even if it didn’t matter to you,” she said. “I would have done anything for you. I probably would have shot Jim myself if you’d asked.”

He moved over and put his hands on her abdomen. “You did so much more than that, though. And because of that, now I have a future. I have you, and I have her, and that’s enough.” 

She smiled. “You really want a girl, don’t you?” she said.

“I do, yes,” she said with a nod. “I want a girl who’s just like her mother. Though I wouldn’t be upset with a son, either. But if we don’t have a son first, we can always try again later.” He slid his hands around to the small of her back. “What do you want?”

“A girl,” she said. “Though really, I just want the baby to be healthy more than anything.”

“That is the most important thing,” he agreed. “Hopefully we’ll both get what we want.”

“Hopefully,” she said, leaning forward and resting her head on his chest as she wrapped her arms around him.

**The Chocolate Truffle Layer Cake**

Mycroft had summoned her to his office, which she wasn’t sure boded well. He’d had her picked up from Barts in a black sedan and brought there just days after the sonogram. Surely he wasn’t upset with the fact he was having a niece? A baby girl was what she and Sherlock wanted. His mother and father had seemed ecstatic by the news. He couldn’t have an objection to it…could he?

She walked in and saw a table set up in front of his desk, covered with plates. Each plate had a piece of cake on it as well as a plastic fork. She saw Mycroft was sitting behind his desk and a vaguely familiar looking man was standing by two uniformed men nearby. When Mycroft saw her come in he stood up. “Ah, Molly. Good. I need your help.”

“Isn’t your fiancé supposed to help make the choice in wedding cake?” she asked, relaxing slightly.

“Gregory has deferred all choices in menu items to me, including the wedding cake,” he said. “He said that since I have exquisite taste he’ll be fine with what I choose. But I know his tastes well enough and had William come up with an assortment of cakes that Gregory would be a fan of. I thought he might appreciate something a bit less traditional this go round.”

“All right,” she said, moving to meet Mycroft at the table. There were at least twenty different varieties of cake, most of them containing chocolate. “I see Greg likes chocolate?”

“That’s one of his biggest weaknesses,” Mycroft said fondly. “And I felt our guests might appreciate it more than some of the flavors I like.”

“Yes, you do have some unusual favorites,” Molly said with a chuckle as Mycroft pulled out a chair for her. The man that Molly realized was Butcher Bill came closer. Mycroft sat down and his personal baker began going in depth about each of the cake samples on the table. Between each slice she and Mycroft had a glass of something to drink to cleanse their palate. Molly had to admit that every single sample was mouthwateringly good. She’d have been happy to have any number of these at her own wedding, if she ever got married. In the end, though, she knew exactly what to go with. “I think, at least from Greg’s point of view, the chocolate truffle layer cake would be best,” she said. “It’s got the most different types of chocolate, with the actual cake and the dark chocolate and white chocolate ganache and the dark chocolate frosting, and then the chocolate shavings on top. Plus it tastes absolutely heavenly.”

“I was leaning towards that one myself,” Mycroft said, wiping his mouth with a cloth napkin. He looked over at Butcher Bill and nodded. “If one cake makes sixteen servings then we’ll take seven.” He paused. “No, eight. There are people who will want seconds.” Butcher Bill nodded and then went back to the uniformed men and left through a paneled door in the back of Mycroft’s office.

“So when is the wedding?” Molly asked.

“In one month,” he said. “We don’t really want to waste time, when we’ve wasted so much already.”

“That sounds like a good reason to move quickly,” she said with a nod. “Do you have attendants?”

“We’ll be having mixed attendants, as there are both men and women we each want in our parties. We’re just having a small argument over who gets Sherlock in the wedding party,” Mycroft said. “As he’s my brother I’m saying I should, but Gregory would like him as his best man, if he’ll agree. I’m starting to be inclined to let him, if you’ll agree to take my brother’s place in my own wedding party.”

She was surprised, but then she smiled widely at him. “I’d be honoured to,” she said. “So I’d be your maid of honour, basically?”

“If you want to use that term,” he said. “Or you could be called my best woman, if you prefer.”

“Best woman,” she said, rolling the term over on her tongue. “I like that. So, I suppose this means I need to plan your stag night.”

He made a face. “I’d prefer not to have one.”

“Oh, but you have to let me plan something,” she said. “I promise, it won’t be tacky. Please?”

He looked at her and then nodded. “All right. But on one condition.”

“What condition?” she asked.

“It’s just the two of us.”

She grinned and then offered him her hand. “Deal.” He reached over and shook it. This was going to be _fun_.

**The Pavlovas with Passion Fruit Curd**

“Are all stag nights supposed to be boring?” Sherlock asked Molly. She could barely hear him with the loud music on his side of their phone conversation. He had let John plan Lestrade’s stag night, as he had no clue what actually happened on a stag night, and she hadn’t been at all surprised by the call.

“I wouldn’t know,” she said with a grin as she picked up another pavlova. Each batch of meringues only made six and she had roped Mrs. Hudson into making two batches in her oven while she’d made two batches, and already she and Mycroft had eaten fourteen between them. Well, fifteen with this one. And they’d only just started their stag night two hours earlier. “This is my first one. Normally I have hen nights and those are usually quite entertaining.”

“I would much rather be at Baker Street with you doing more interesting things,” he grumbled.

She laughed softly. “Sherlock, _I’m_ not even at Baker Street right not. I’m at Mycroft’s home, remember? And you’ll be back at Baker Street soon enough.”

“Without you,” he pointed out.

“For just one night,” she said. “You only have to spend one night without me and then you have me again for as long as you want me.”

“That’s one night too many,” he said. “Besides, you’re eight months pregnant. What if you go into labour early and I’m still at this insipid club and I miss the birth of our daughter?”

“Well, then you’ll just have to make sure you’re there for the birth of our second child, then,” she said.

“I wasn’t joking,” he said.

“Oh, Sherlock, I do love you,” she said, a smile forming on her face. “You know if I go into labour on Mycroft’s sofa he’ll make sure I get taken to the hospital while simultaneously sending for you to be kidnapped from whatever club you're at and be brought straightaway to me. He wouldn’t dare let you miss the birth of your daughter over some silly stag party.”

“I suppose.” There was a pause. “What are the two of you doing?”

“Nothing all that interesting. Watching a few films and eating food that is far too fattening for us.”

“It still sounds better than my evening,” he said.

“It probably is,” she said.

There was a pause on Sherlock’s end. “I’m being called to actually _socialize._ ”

“If you do I’ll reward you generously after the wedding,” she said.

“Reward me how?” he asked.

“However you want.”

“I suppose I can be sociable for the evening,” he said thoughtfully. 

“Good. I love you, Sherlock.”

“I love you too, Molly.”

He hung up and she set her mobile down and took a bite of the pavlova. Mycroft had managed to filch two more while she’d been on the phone with his brother and she raised an eyebrow. “It’s not my fault he acts like a sullen child,” Mycroft said before taking a bite.

“Yes, but we only have twenty-four of these total and you just took two,” she said. “Fair’s fair.”

“You know, I have all the ingredients to make meringues in the kitchen,” he said. “And we could always find some store somewhere with whatever you need for the passion fruit curd.”

She thought for a moment. “Passion fruit puree, sugar, lemon juice and butter.”

“So since this isn’t exactly the most enthralling of films, let’s make more of these. I’m sure we can find some activity to occupy our minds for the time it will take to bake the meringues and then let them cool completely.”

She considered it. “How do you feel about card games?”

Mycroft grinned at that. “I’ve never been beaten.”

“Then this could be quite an interesting evening, because neither have I.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You?”

“Oh yes.” She gave him a very sweet smile. “Care to make a wager on the outcome of some of these games?”

“I think that could be an acceptable way to make some money,” he said with a nod and a grin of his own. Oh, he didn’t know what he was getting himself into…but he’d find out soon.

**The Ginger and Pear Upside-Down Cake**

She felt huge and ugly and she just wanted it to be over. She’d been fortunate enough to have a very easy pregnancy, but enough was enough. She was close to her due date and the sooner her daughter was delivered the better. She woke up with another one of those cravings that just couldn’t be sated by going to a bakery and trying to have someone else make it, and so she slowly got out of bed and made her way to the kitchen.

She’d wanted pineapple upside down cake for days now, but she kept forgetting to have Sherlock get the ingredients for it when he went to the market, and now the craving for _some_ sort of upside down cake was so intense she didn’t know what she’d do if she didn’t get some. She brought out her laptop and went online and pulled up a search engine and just typed in “upside down cake” to see what popped up. After going through and discarding quite a few posts she ran across something called a Ginger and Pear Upside-Down Cake. That looked promising. She had all of the spices in abundance from other recipes, she had the honey for her tea since one of the things that had happened during her pregnancy was suddenly cream and sugar in her tea had just tasted off, and she was even lucky enough to have pears due to a craving for them earlier in the week, and just the right type and amount too. Hers were a little soft, but that couldn’t be helped.

She kept the laptop on the kitchen worktop to keep the recipe close, moving her finger along the mouse pad every so often so she could see it, and she got to work. She’d just gotten the batter mixed together in the bowl and was about to spread it all over the pears that were arranged in the bottom of the cast iron skillet when she felt warm liquid trickle down her legs. Her eyes widened and she nearly dropped the bowl of batter onto the floor. “Sherlock!” she yelled.

It took a moment, but he quickly came out of their bedroom, his eyes wide. “What is—” He took in the sight of the small puddle at her feet and if it was at all possible his eyes got wider. “Your water broke.”

She nodded. “I haven’t felt contractions yet, but…yeah.”

“All right. Let’s get your things and get you to the hospital,” he said before turning and walking straight into the kitchen table. She could see he was trying to stay calm but he was close to not quite doing that. Okay then. She’d stay calm for both of them. She took a dishtowel and folded it and set the cast iron skillet on top of it before putting it into the refrigerator, and then took cling wrap and put it over the cake batter and put it into the refrigerator. The first step would be to change out of her sodden nightie and knickers before Sherlock got the bright idea to take her to the hospital in those. Then they’d go.

She made her way to their bedroom and saw him frantically tearing the room apart looking for something. “Sherlock?” she asked.

“Your bag,” he said, kneeling next to the bed.

“By the coat rack,” she said, going to her drawer to get a new pair of knickers out.

“Oh,” he said. He reached for his shoes and then began to put them on.

“Um…Sherlock?” she asked as she reached for the hem of her nightgown.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Perhaps you’d like to change out of your pyjamas before you put your shoes on?” she suggested. “And…maybe put socks on, too?”

He nodded, taking his shoes back off. She suppressed a grin at that. She had the feeling it was going to be a _long_ day.

**The Bittersweet-Chocolate Tart**

Her life was honestly never better. She had Sherlock, she had their daughter Eloise, she had her friends and she had a new family with Mycroft and Sherlock’s parents…she was quite content. She was honestly fulfilled, she really was. And life was hectic with a new baby in the flat, but she would never want it to be any different, not ever. She had the perfect life, and she was so happy for that.

But even people with the perfect life want a vacation every once in a while, and while covertly arranging things with his parents and Mycroft and his husband, Sherlock managed to whisk her away for a week in New York City around the one year anniversary of the day they admitted how they felt about each other. Sherlock said they should probably consider that their one year anniversary, since that was Eloise’s conception date and all, and she found she had no reason to argue with his logic.

They strolled around the city hand in hand, taking in sights they had seen a year prior as well as new ones, enjoying each other’s company and the privacy they had for the moment. It was quite nice to have some grown up time with him. Not that she minded sharing him with their daughter; Sherlock was a wonderful, doting father and her heart swelled every time she saw the two of them together. But she enjoyed these moments when it was just them and everyone else they knew were thousands of miles away.

On their actual one year anniversary they had planned to get chocolate cream puffs from the same place and go back to the bench but to their dismay the bakery was out of business. Molly had felt a bit disheartened by that, a feeling that lasted into dinner at Benoit, which she had heard could be hard to get into. It was a very good meal, and she had been excited to try the bittersweet-chocolate tart for dessert, but her mind was still on those chocolate cream puffs.

“I think I may have something to take your mind off things,” Sherlock said as they waited for their dessert course to be brought to them.

“Oh?” she asked, giving him a smile. “And just what would that be?” He reached into his suit jacket pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. Her eyes widened even before he opened it, but when he opened it her mouth formed a small O shape. Inside was a Princess cut diamond ring flanked by two opals on a white gold band. “Sherlock…”

“I should have done this the day I came back,” he said, taking the ring out of the box and picking up her left hand, slipping the ring on her ring finger. “Or even before then. I should have asked when you came to Naples, when you told me you loved me. Or maybe when you came to New York, though I doubted you would have agreed to marry me before I kissed you.” She smiled at that and blinked back tears. “But I’ve known I’ve loved you for a long time, and I feel foolish that I haven’t wanted to tell the world, to show everyone that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. So Molly, please, allow me the honour of spending the rest of my life as your husband. Let me be there for everything, for the good and the bad. I want that more than anything else in the world.”

“Oh, Sherlock,” she said, pulling her hand away to wipe back the tears. “Yes. Yes! Absolutely, yes!” She leaned forward and framed his face, kissing him. Oh, this man she loved more than anyone else in the world, he wanted to be with her for the rest of his life? Of course she would let him! She wanted him for the rest of hers as well. When she was done kissing him she embraced him. “I love you, Sherlock.”

“I love you too, Molly,” he said, holding her close. It was at that moment that they heard a cleared throat, and they pulled apart as the waiter set down their desserts. Molly glanced over at Sherlock, a wide smile on her face as she picked up her fork and took a bite of the decadent dessert. While it was quite decadent there was something else she wanted, something else she was hungry for, and she could see by the look in his eyes that he felt the same way. There would be quite a celebration tonight, it seemed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **RECIPES:** [White Peach Tart](http://www.foodandwine.com/recipes/white-peach-tart) | [Lemon Curd Macarons](http://www.foodandwine.com/recipes/lemon-curd-macarons) | [Chocolate Truffle Layer Cake](http://www.foodandwine.com/recipes/chocolate-truffle-layer-cake) | [Pavlovas with Passion Fruit Curd](http://www.foodandwine.com/recipes/pavlovas-with-passion-fruit-curd) | [Ginger and Pear Upside-Down Cake](http://www.foodandwine.com/recipes/ginger-and-pear-upside-down-cake) | [Bittersweet-Chocolate Tart](http://www.foodandwine.com/recipes/bittersweet-chocolate-tart)


End file.
